


Write your Truth (Upon my Heart)

by leontina (Leontina)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Basically Voldemort is a pretty bad dude, Blood Magic, Dark, Gaslighting, Light Bondage, Love Letters, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Kissing, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Rape, Rune Magic, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/pseuds/leontina
Summary: When Harry goes to the forest to die, Voldemort chooses not to kill Harry, but flee Hogwarts instead. Hogwarts becomes a sanctuary for the survivors, and Harry feels a glimmer of hope--until the letters start. Voldemort has uncovered that Harry holds a piece of his soul, and is now dangerously obsessed with him. And he'll stop at nothing to get what belongs to him.





	Write your Truth (Upon my Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the HPDarkArts Anti-Valentine mini-fest. So yeah, this is Dark, and don't expect a happy ending for Harry. But Voldemort gets _his_ happy ending, if that makes up for it? ;D

The Forbidden Forest was unnaturally silent. 

The eyes on him were burning, but Harry kept his back straight and held his head high as he stood in the middle of the circle of Death Eaters. 

Something was very wrong. 

Voldemort had looked delighted to see Harry at first, had delved into one of his mocking, gloating speeches, but now he had fallen quiet and was looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. His red eyes glittered darkly, drinking in the sight of Harry as though he were seeing him for the first time. 

Surely Voldemort couldn't _know_ , could he? Nobody other than Dumbledore and Snape, and Harry only an hour ago, knew that he stored part of Voldemort's soul inside him. Harry knew now where Snape's loyalties had lain, and there was no way he would have betrayed the secret that even Harry hadn't known. 

"This is a trick," Voldemort said finally, his voice quiet, but carried easily through the stillness of the forest. "The boy carries deception with him, a ploy no doubt crafted by that filthy Mudblood pet of his. I will not allow my devoted followers, the ones who deserve life, to fall victim to dirty tricks set in place by the unclean. Do not mistake this for a victory, boy; I have seen through your lies with ease. Sleep sweetly at Hogwarts while you can, because we _will_ be returning with victory at our fingertips."

Harry narrowed his eyes, not quite trusting what he'd just heard. He spared a brief look around him and found that most of the Death Eaters looked just as bewildered as he felt, although many of them also carried a look of relief. Bellatrix was standing dutifully behind her master, looking concerned for Voldemort's sanity, but not even she would dare to question the Dark Lord. 

"Until next time, Harry," Voldemort sad coldly, his red eyes flashing. "Enjoy the remaining days of your life."

He vanished with a pop, swiftly followed by his numerous servants until Harry was left alone in the forest, and the silence was even more deafening. A twig snapped somewhere in the distance and Harry jumped violently, half expecting Voldemort to come leaping at him from the trees, armed with a knife. 

However, Voldemort didn't appear, even as Harry waited for him, frozen in apprehension. His heart felt tight in his chest, suffocating him. There was no reason for Voldemort to flee, not a single reason at all. It was true that Harry had been deceiving Voldemort, sacrificing himself so that Ron and Hermione could strike the final blow, but it was _impossible_ for Voldemort to know that.

Unless Harry had given the secret away somehow. He felt ill at the thought that he could have blown the Light side's victory by wearing his mind like an open book. 

He blinked as bright sunshine hit his eyes, and he realised his feet had carried him away from the forest. Hogwarts was still smouldering, but the sounds of the battle had ceased. The feeling of unease grew as Harry followed the path back to the castle, sounds of low murmuring and sobbing growing louder as he neared, but the sounds of raging giants and spitting Acromantula had gone. Even the chill in the air from the Dementors had vanished. 

"Harry!"

He had finally reached the Entrance Courtyard, where a large crowd of people were gathered, talking lowly amongst themselves until they fell silent at Harry's appearance. 

Ron and Hermione came running towards him, both drawing him into a too-tight embrace. Harry welcomed the discomfort, because it proved to him that this was _real_ , and not a dream or a post-death fantasy. 

"What happened?" Hermione demanded as the hug broke apart. "I never thought I'd see you again! Where's You-Know-Who? All of his Death Eaters and creatures left all of sudden, and all at once."

"He called off the battle," Harry said quietly, but his voice carried across the courtyard regardless. "He knew that we were going to win, so he fled like a coward."

"Are you sure?"

That was Kingsley Shacklebolt, who looked bloodied and worn, but determined nonetheless. 

Harry nodded. "He said that we were welcome to Hogwarts for now, but he'd be back. I don't think it's a trick; he's tried to buy himself time, but in doing that, he's give us time as well."

Kingsley swallowed heavily. "Right. We need a sweep of the grounds, and to reinforce all the Wards. Anyone who feels able to help, join a group and get started immediately; we don't have time to waste if this is a genuine opportunity for a reprieve. Harry, find yourself a room to rest; you look positively ready to drop." 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Ron and Hermione were already ushering him away, dragging him safely away from the staring eyes. They ended up in the library, which had books strewn all over the floor. 

Ron pushed Harry firmly into a sitting chair, before he and Hermione knelt by Harry's side. Ron pushed a hand under Harry's fringe in a gesture of comfort, and Harry's eyes fluttered shut in response. His body felt so wound up, like electricity was short-circuiting all the way through him. 

"What happened?" Hermione's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I looked in the Penseive after you went to...Does he know? What you are?"

She didn't have to say any more than that; Harry knew what she meant. After all, there was really only one thing that could have spooked Voldemort so much. 

"I don't know. He must do, but I don't know _how_ he could have figured it out. Do you think it will destroy it if I do it myself?"

"Harry, surely you can't mean-"

"No!" Ron cried. "No, you're not going to kill yourself, Harry, not after all we've been though, and everything we've already survived."

Harry felt his lips trembling before a sob escaped them, and he fell forwards into whoever's embrace caught him first. 

"But what else can we do? If he knows what I am, he's not going to kill me if it means his demise. I have to die, otherwise we can't get rid of him."

"We'll figure it out, Harry, we always do," Hermione said fiercely. "Besides, Dumbledore said that You-Know-Who himself had to be the one to kill you. But we'll figure this out, Harry. Even if You-Know-Who knows, we'll find a way to imprison him or something, okay? So can you promise me you're not going to do anything in desperation?"

Ron scoffed. "Like we're going to be letting him out of our sights. But Hermione's right, mate, we always figure everything out in the end, don't we?"

**xXx**

It took two weeks for everybody to settle down. 

People went out and searched the castle and the grounds for lingering Death Eaters, and when they were finished more people would go out to check again. Others fixed the Wards around the castle, building them up stronger than they'd ever been before, while all the secret passageways inside were destroyed. 

It was two weeks of frantic work motivated by desperate hope, until it was finally concluded that Voldemort hadn't been tricking them, and he had truly fled Hogwarts with his supporters. With that fear eased, Hogwarts began to shift into a true safe haven with the many rooms of the castle turned into bedrooms for survivors.

After the dead were buried, and the rubble cleared away and restored, life tentatively began to return to some sense of normality. They took simple meals at small tables in the Great Hall, spoke with friends and played games, and children cheerfully ran around the grounds under the watchful eye of their parents and Aurors alike. Of course there were many people prone to bursting into unexpected tears, or who jumped at the slightest of sounds--of which Harry was very guilty--but mainly they all just wanted to live as normally as possible while they still could. 

Nobody knew when Voldemort and his Death Eaters would try to break into the castle, and the shadow of that thought constantly hung over the castle like a vulture watching its dying prey. 

Even though he spent most of his time hidden away in the library, with only Ron and Hermione for company, Harry still felt like he was suffocating most days. 

"There's _nothing_!" Harry cried, slamming his book closed with a heavy thud. "I don't know how we're ever supposed to stop Him when these books are all so _useless_."

Hermione pursed her lips, as though Harry had insulted her personally by calling books useless. "We'll figure something out, Harry; we just have to keep searching."

"Do you really think we're going to find the answer to stopping the Darkest wizard of our times in a book from the Restricted Section of Hogwarts? I hate to say this, but I think we need some _actual_ Dark Arts books, but there's no way of getting out of here to get some."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a guilty glance.

"What?" Harry demanded, looking between them before finally settling his gaze on Ron, who was more likely to reveal their secret. "Have you found a secret way out of the castle?"

"Uh, not quite," Ron said lowly, the tips of his ears turning red. "Me and Hermione agree that the books here aren't giving us any answers, so we spoke to the Aurors and they're going to help us raid the homes of anyone even slightly Death Eater affiliated to see what we can find."

"Great! Why didn't you say anything before?" Harry frowned as Ron and Hermione exchanged another look, and realisation dawned on him. "I'm not invited on this mission, am I?" 

"It's not that we don't want you!" Hermione protested. "But, well...the Aurors said--and I agree--that you're You-Know-Who's main target, and it seems irresponsible to put you in a dangerous situation."

"Yes, it would be a shame if anything happened to the Light side's little weapon, wouldn't it?" Harry muttered bitterly. 

Hermione shook her head. "It's really not like that!"

"Maybe not to you two, but that's what everyone else thinks of me. And I'm sure they'd be the first to advocate for me throwing myself off the Astronomy Tower if they found out what I was."

"Harry-" Ron began, falling silent as Harry stood abruptly. 

"It's fine," he said. "You two go on your mission with the Aurors, and please don't die because that's the last thing I can handle right now. "

He stormed away from their table, leaving two guilty faces behind. 

Harry felt nauseous as he hurried through the stone hallways, tired of being seen as nothing but an object for the Light side to throw at Voldemort whenever they felt like. And now his best friends had been unwittingly drawn into that circle; it surely wouldn't be long until they started to see Harry as a weapon too, if they even survived long enough to reach that conclusion. 

It wasn't even that he resented having the power to destroy Voldemort; if it was a choice between that, or suffering in a world under Voldemort's rule, then Harry would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat--he'd already tried to do that once. But he was more than just a weapon; hell, now he was the one person able to destroy Voldemort, or keep him alive forever.

His stomach twisted violently at the thought, and he was pleased when he finally reached his room, where he'd be able to wallow in his misery. As soon as he stepped through the door, however, something felt off. 

There was an unnatural chill in the air, and though everything looked exactly as he'd left it, it didn't feel like the same room he'd left earlier that day. It was only after he checked in the bathroom and in his wardrobe to make sure nobody was hiding, that he noticed a letter folded neatly on his bed. 

The gesture itself wouldn't have been worrying, had Harry not had Wards up on his doors and windows to prevent anyone from getting into his room. And although a House-elf would still be able to use their own magic to get inside, if anyone had wanted to pass a letter onto Harry that way, any elf would have brought it directly to him. 

Gingerly, Harry picked up the letter and unfolded it, and dropped it promptly in shock. He had never seen the handwriting before, but with letters scrawled as sharp as daggers, and written in what Harry hoped was red ink, the letter could only be from one person. 

_I hope you hadn't thought I'd forgotten you, Precious. Make no mistake, I know exactly what you are, my dear Horcrux, and I'm coming for you. I will take you from the filth, and hide you away as my most treasured possession. Make the most of the time you have left with those you call friends, my cherished._

If Harry had felt ill before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. As much as Ron and Hermione tried to convince him otherwise, the letter only confirmed Harry's worst fear--that Voldemort knew what he was. And not only that, but the words Voldemort used in his letter to describe Harry, like he was some adored pet...he shuddered violently. 

A more important question, was how had Voldemort managed to get the letter inside the castle, and more specifically, into Harry's room? Even if there was spies in Hogwarts, that couldn't explain how Voldemort got the letter to them, because between the Order and the Aurors, there were eyes everywhere.

After a moment of hesitation, Harry took the letter to the lit fireplace and tossed it into the flames. If anyone found out about the letter, panic would very quickly ensue. People had just begun to feel safe again, and Harry couldn't allow himself to destroy that peace based on a single letter. If he saw signs that Voldemort or his Death Eaters themselves were inside the castle then he would report it, but a letter wasn't enough to cause chaos. 

He just hoped he was making the right decision.

**xXx**

"You're loitering, Harry," Kingsley said calmly. "What's wrong? I can't imagine it's very interesting for you to keep me company during my security rounds."

"Oh, I'm just curious about what you do," Harry said, shrugging. "You seem to keep a tight ship."

"We can't be too careful; there's too many innocent people in the castle for us not to be."

"So, you've not noticed anything, uh, _suspicious_ recently?" Harry asked, hoping he sounded casual. 

Kingsley, as Harry expected, wasn't fooled. "Why? Has something happened?"

Harry stayed silent for a moment, wrestling with himself about whether to confide in Kingsley about the letter or not. Out of all the Aurors, Kingsley was the only one that Harry could trust completely, not only because Kingsley was in the Order, but because he was a good, honest man. 

"It's okay, I understand," Kingsley murmured, filling in the silence before Harry could finish his inner battle. He grasped Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "You've been through a great trauma, Harry, and sometimes I forget how young you truly are. I can assure you, though, there's absolutely no way that You-Know-Who or any of his followers can get into Hogwarts or the grounds. We're completely guarded."

Kingsley sounded so sure, and so confident, that Harry would have been comforted, had the sharp scrawl of Voldemort's words not been etched into his mind. At the very least, it seemed unlikely that Voldemort had managed to get inside the castle himself to deliver the note, but Harry hadn't considered that the most likely option anyway. 

"And what about owls?" Harry pressed. "Couldn't they carry in, you know, hexed letters or parcel bombs or something?"

Kingsley laughed, the sound booming and warm. "Harry, our Wards are so powerful that any owls are compelled to turn away long before they get close to them. They're designed to keep out powerful witches and wizards, so animals are the least of our worries. I'm afraid our postal system is stalled as a result, but it's a necessary sacrifice. Trust me, Harry, I'm not about to let you, or anyone else here get hurt."

Harry managed a weak smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. The letter had to be a fluke, it just had to be.

**xXx**

The letter wasn't a fluke. 

It was three days later that Harry found another envelope on his bed, his room feeling as cold and as tainted as it had the first time. 

As he unfolded the letter something small and soft fell to his bed. It was a small, dark pink flower, the petals stained with blood. Harry's heart jumped into his throat; he knew what the flower was--his Aunt Petunia had loved the flower of her namesake, and always kept petunias growing in the garden.

Harry didn't even want to read the letter; he wanted to burn it, along with the tainted flower, but he forced his gaze to the parchment held up by his trembling fingers. 

_I see nobody taught you manners, my treasure. I wish for a communication between us, Harry, yet you didn't respond to my last letter. All you need do is write your response on the back of the parchment and I'll be able to see it. I've even sent you a gift, to show how much I care for you, precious._

Voldemort was hoping for Harry to become his pen-pal? Like hell that was going to happen. But the mention of the gift...Harry hoped the bloody petunia was purely symbolic, and not-

There was a knock at the door, and Harry jumped at the sound. He looked around wildly for a second, before shoving the letter under his duvet as the knocking sounded again, this time more urgent. He crossed his room and yanked hs door open, finding Kingley and Professor McGonagall the other side, both wearing looks of deep sorrow. 

Harrry thought of the bloody petunia, and had a horrible feeling about what he was going to hear. 

"I'm afraid we have some sad news for you, Harry," McGonagall said softly. "It's about your aunt and uncle."

Harry clapped a hand to his throat, feeling all at once like he couldn't breathe. 

"We hadn't heard from their Auror detail, so we send someone to check on them," Kingsley continued. "I'm afraid they, along with your aunt, uncle, and cousin, were all found murdered. The Dark Mark was over the house."

Harry fell back against the wall, shaking McGonagall away as she reached for him in concern. 

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I just need to...I want to be alone." 

"Of course," Kingsley said."If you need-"

Harry didn't let him finish, slinking back into his room and slamming the door shut behind him. He pulled the letter out from under his duvet, throwing the parchment into the flames of the fireplace, but carrying the flower carefully over to the bathroom. Running the tap at a gentle stream, Harry cupped his hands with the flower in the middle, and placed them under the water. 

The blood washed over his hands and down the drain, and though the cold water numbed his fingers, he didn't move until the blood had been completely washed away, leaving the petunia soggy and damp, but otherwise perfect. 

Harry placed it gently on the sink edge, then closed his eyes and wept.

**xXx**

_Have you ever known true pleasure, Harry? I felt it when I sliced your aunt's throat open and watched her blood spray onto the floor. What kind of woman locks her own nephew in a cupboard? I will never hurt you like she did, my precious. Perhaps you'll feel pleasure when I tell you how I tortured your monster of a uncle-_

Harry couldn't bear to read any further, and tore the letter into pieces before burning it.

**xXx**

_I heard you're passionate about werewolf rights, sweet thing, so I asked Greyback to procure this gift for you. It's a symbol of what I will give to you, my cherished._

Harry gagged as he opened the lid of the box sent with the letter, and fell to his knees. If he listened to the silence close enough, it was almost as if the heart inside the box was still beating.

**xXx**

_You're being very rude, Harry. No response from you, despite all my letters and gifts? The first thing I'm going to teach you is discipline, but don't fret, Cherished, it isn't your fault you were raised by animals. I will undo all the damage done to you and make you pure once more. I eagerly await your response._

Harry picked up the black roses sent with the letter to throw them into the fire, hissing as one of the thorns dug into the pad of his finger and drew blood. Ignoring the pain, he turned the parchment over and slammed it roughly onto his desk, smearing his blood across the page. He scrawled two words which he was sure would get his point across to Voldemort.

_FUCK YOU!_

**xXx**

It had been almost a week, and Harry hadn't received any more letters or gifts from Voldemort. Though he hoped that some mild obscenity had been enough to end the communication between them, he knew deep down that couldn't possibly be true. Each day that passed without hearing from Voldemort left Harry with an uneasy sensation in his stomach, like he was stuck in slow-motion, waiting for the bomb next to him to explode. 

He was almost relieved when he finally returned to his room to find a letter waiting for him, although that near-relief faded as soon as it had come. 

_I asked a single, simple request of you, Harry, and you dared to mock me. I have bestowed gifts upon you to demonstrate my dedication to you, my cherished one, but my new one is to demonstrate my power. Take something precious from me, and I take something precious from you. Never forget I am far more powerful and accomplished than you are. You are simply a pretty little vessel protecting a shard of my soul. Do not forget your place , and remember you brought this gift upon yourself through your insolence. I expect obedience from you from this point forwards, and if you dare to disobey my orders, or share knowledge of our correspondence with others, more bad things will happen, and they will be entirely your fault. I look forward to hearing from you soon, sweet one_.

Harry didn't even wait to burn the letter like he normally did, dropping it to the floor and rushing out of his room. As he rounded the first corner he collided with someone else, who was thankfully strong enough to keep both of them up. 

It turned out to be Ron, who, along with Hermione beside him, were both very ashen-faced. 

"What's wrong? What's happened?" Harry demanded, and his words set off a flood of tears in Hermione.

"It's Hannah Abbott...the Aurors found her hanging from a tree in the Forbidden Forest not long ago," Ron said.

The blood in Harry's body turned to ice. "Was it..."

He couldn't finish his sentence, but Ron filled it in for him, opposite to what Harry had been aiming at. "They're pretty convinced it's a suicide. Hannah was always sensitive, and I guess the trauma from the battle was just too much for her."

"Neville's beside himself," Hermione added, swiping at her eyes furiously. "I've never seen him so upset."

"I didn't know they were that close," Harry said, mind drifting back to Voldemort's letter. This was _Harry's_ fault, Voldemort had said. 

"Neither did I," Hermione answered. "But Ginny said that Neville and Hannah became really close this last year; apparently he was going to propose once the war was over."

In the letter, Voldemort had also promised revenge for taking something 'precious' from him. Harry had assumed that it was something related to him, but the threat made so much more sense now; Neville had killed Nagini, so Voldemort had taken the woman Neville loved most. 

"That's awful," Harry said, guilt eating heavily away at his chest. Why did he have to cheek Voldemort? He should have known Voldemort wasn't going to take any attitude from him, regardless of how creepily obsessed he seemed to have become with Harry."Sorry, I just need to...I need to go back to my room."

Ron and Hermione nodded in understanding, but Harry barely gave them a second glance as he hurried back to his room almost as quickly as he'd left it. He locked the door behind him, before picking the letter up from the floor and taking it to his desk.

_You wanted a response? Well here, you've got one. If you're pissed, take it out on me, nobody else. Oh, and thank you for all of your gifts, each and every one was truly horrific, and I can tell they were gifts of the heart. Please, don't feel like you have to send me any more as you've given me plenty. I mean that._

As soon as he finished writing his words vanished from the page, in an uncanny mirror of the Horcrux diary Harry had used to unwittingly talk with Tom Riddle. The memory left a sour taste in his mouth. 

_See, that wasn't so hard, was it, my cherished? Doesn't it feel good to be obedient? Do as I say, and you'll have no worries in your life. I will take away your control and choices, and in return you will have gained freedom. Oh, and it might please you to know that now his girlfriend is dead, Longbottom will suffer no further punishment from me. I had promised his death to Bellatrix, but as that's no longer an option I've passed the pleasure on to her widower, who is looking very much forward to torturing your friend. All of your friends are going to suffer before they die, but if you're well-behaved that torture will be minimal. Does that sound fair to you, Precious?_

Harry scowled as he hashed out a quick reply.

_That sounds the opposite of fair to me. People here just want to live a life free of pain and suffering, and they can't do that with you around. They don't deserve to be tortured for wanting a better life, and definitely not just for being my friend. Just take your hatred out on me._

Harry's response faded at once, but it took a good few moments for Voldemort's answer to come through. Harry stared at the blank parchment, growing antsier each second that passed without a reply, lest Voldemort had taken offence and was planning on killing somebody else. 

_You make it sound like I care about the happiness of others, Harry. I assure you that I don't. I would torture everyone hiding at Hogwarts simply for my own pleasure. But as I said, you can ease their suffering simply by submitting yourself to me. I don't hate you, sweet thing; how could I hate someone holding onto something so very precious to me? I'm going to ask you to do something for me. Do you agree to do as I ask, or do I have to prove my power to you again, Harry?_

Somehow, Voldemort using Harry's first name felt more disturbing than the pet names. In fact, the entire interaction had left Harry feeling incredibly uneasy, like he needed to go to Trelawney's office and bury himself under all of her cleansing herbs and crystals. 

He picked up his quill, writing the only answer that his conscience would allow. 

_What do you want me to do?_

**xXx**

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers threaded through his hair as he looked at the potion vial at the edge of his vision. It looked a harmless enough little potion, silky and vibrant purple, but anything that had come from the hands of Voldemort couldn't be innocent. 

The thought of drinking the contents filled him with a cold dread that settled deep in his bones, but he didn't have a choice. In Voldemort's letter of directions for Harry, that he was to drink the potion, without a word about it t anyone, or else one of the Weasleys would die. 

Harry knew he couldn't live with himself if Molly lost another child--Voldemort had made it clear that the Weasley matriarch would have to watch her entire family die before he took her life. He didn't even know what the potion would do, and though Voldemort wouldn't kill him, there were still a lot of other horrible things that Voldemort could do to him. 

But what did it even matter? Harry wasn't going to cave into fear, and watch another friend die as a result. 

With a deep breath, Harry took a moment before reaching for the potion and downing it without a second thought. There was a tang of violet dancing across his tongue, before black stars crowded his vision and he fell into unconsciousness.

**xXx**

Everything felt foggy. 

Harry struggled to open his eyes, his eyelids impossibly heavy. As he came to blind awareness, he realised he was lying on something soft--his mattress--and when he tried to move he found he couldn't. Something was wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him firmly to the bed, no matter how much he struggled against them. 

There was a sudden chill in the air, and it wasn't simply because he was without clothes. He knew that he was no longer alone in the room, and he managed to wrench his eye open, preparing himself to face the nightmare that was awaiting him. 

Voldemort stood at the end of Harry's bed, tall and imposing, his dark robes contrasting sharply with the stark white tone of Voldemort's skin. 

"Hello, Precious," Voldemort said, as though greeting an old friend. "I'm glad to see you're awake."

Harry snarled, baring his teeth, and began to thrash more violently against his bindings. 

Voldemort withdrew his wand, and Harry fell still at once, as a blue flash struck his body and sent a jolt of electricity through every inch of his body. It wasn't as painful as the Cruciatus, but the shock and intensity of the spell had Harry's limbs shaking. 

"No need for that, Pet," Voldemort tutted. 

"I'm not your fucking _pet_ ," Harry hissed, but Voldemort simply smiled, and struck Harry with the blue spell once more. "I thought you told me you weren't going to hurt me," he managed to grind out once his chest stopped heaving from pain. 

"You need to read more carefully, Harry. I will never hurt you without just cause, that's true, but if you insist on acting like a naughty chid then you shall be punished accordingly. Anything bad that happens to you from this moment on, will be all your own fault."

Harry bit back an insulting retort, still shaken by the spell. And now the shock of seeing Voldemort was wearing off, it was beginning it hit him, that Voldemort was _here_. He was in _Hogwarts_ , a mere door away from hundreds of innocent people who were entirely unaware of the imminent threat. 

"What do you want?" Harry asked instead. "And how did you even get here?"

Voldemort smiled again, the gesture haunting on such a skeletal, serpentine face. "I have you to thank for that, Harry. You very graciously cut yourself on the roses I sent you, and through staining my letter with your blood, it invoked the magic I'd sealed within."

Harry stared in horror. "No. You're just saying that."

"Have I ever lied to you, sweet thing? Your Aurors and dear Order have done a fine job protecting Hogwarts, but I am more powerful, and more intelligent, than any of them will ever be. My Death Eaters are currently waiting in hiding throughout the castle, waiting for my signal to attack, and it's all thank to you."

Voldemort took a seat on the bed, the mattress barely dipping, and grasped Harry's thigh firmly. Harry flinched, feeling nauseous as long fingers moved in small circles across his skin. It was only as Harry looked down, preparing to shake Voldemort's hand off of him, that he noticed the black markings drawn all over his body; runes of some kind. 

"A final gift from me, to you," Voldemort explained, noticing where Harry was looking. "You never did answer me when I asked, Harry; have you ever known pleasure?"

Harry's blood ran cold, his lack of clothes and Voldemort's question bringing a horrific realisation over him. He let out a cry of pain when Voldemort's nails dug sharply into his thigh. 

"I expect an answer when I ask you something," Voldemort snarled. He took his hand from Harry's leg and raised it in the air between them, showing the blood staining the fingertips. "Do you see what you made me do? Because of your insolence I've spilled your precious blood. But no more, my cherished; the next time you disobey me or talk back, I'll make sure you have a front row seat to the demise of your closest friend. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Harry said bitterly, with no choice otherwise. He didn't doubt that Voldemort had found a way to get his Death Eaters into the castle, and veen if he hadn't, Voldemort himself was dangerous enough. All he could hope, was that if he willed it enough, his thoughts would reach Ron and Hermione to warn them. 

Voldemort's hand moved to stroke through Harry' hair gently for a moment, before he tugged sharply enough to pull Harry's face upwards. 

"Good boy," Voldemort purred, before his mouth descended on Harry's.

Harry stiffened, but Voldemort wasn't deterred, the strange, lipless, harsh lines of Voldemort's mouth moving roughly over Harry's. Harry whimpered as Voldemort bit down on his lower lip, and wished he hadn't as Voldemort took the opportunity to thrust his slippery, forked tongue inside his mouth. 

It felt nothing less than kissing a monster, and tears began to build in Harry's eyes as his mouth was ravished. A single tear escaped, and Voldemort breathed in heavily before dragging his lips away from Harry's to lap up the tear. 

"This is just how you should be, Cherished, entirely at my mercy." Voldemort's wand tug into the narrow junction of Harry's hips. "I'll see to it that you know your place. Don't worry if you scream; nobody will be able to hear you."

Whatever spell Voldemort uttered next, hurt like no pain Harry had ever felt before.

Tiny patches of skin--the runes, he was distantly aware--began to burn furiously, searing his skin. The longer they burned, the more it hurt _inside_ him, like his very magic was trying to break through his skin. He was distantly aware that he was screaming, but all he knew was pain.

He continued to sob, even as the pain began to ebb away, until all that was left was a dull ache over his entire body. 

"You scream so beautifully," Voldemort murmured, laying a hand on Harry's chest. Harry glanced down to see the runes, previously black, were now a violent shade of red, etched deep into his skin. "Such a pretty little vessel for my soul. You never did tell me if you knew pleasure, Harry, but it matters not, because I'm going to show you it. Perhaps you'll confuse for the pleasure for pain, but that is no concern of mine."

Voldemort cast another spell, leaving Harry's arse feeling strangely slick. Then there was a rustling of robes as Voldemort shifted on top of Harry, releasing the binding around his ankles so he could push Harry's knees to his chest. 

"Please don't," Harry cried, tugging desperately to release his wrists. He ignored the stinging pain, the bindings having tug into his skin at some point, but he didn't care; all he wanted was to be away from what was happening. "Please don't!" he repeated. "I don't want this."

Voldemort smiled down at him darkly, the head of his erection pushing at Harry's hole. "But I do, and you are _me_."

Harry bit down on his lip to stop from screaming as Voldemort pushed inside of him roughly, without a care to Harry's comfort. Voldemort pushed, and pushed, impossibly long inside of Harry. He could taste copper from where he'd bitten down on his lip too hard, and it was all for nought as Voldemort pulled out and thrust back in violently with a snarl, and Harry couldn't help but scream. 

It was only Voldemort's smug smile that stopped Harry from screaming again, settling for broken sobs as Voldemort continued to rape his mercilessly. He found a spot on the ceiling, a single crack in the surface, to stare at, trying to focus hard enough to forget what was happening to him. 

It was impossible, though, and his sobs turned to tears of relief as Voldemort finally came inside of him and pulled out.

There was a brief wave of comfort as Voldemort stood and released the bindings around Harry's wrists. Harry clasped his hands together and drew them in front of his face, wiping his face from the never-ending barrage of tears. 

"I hate you, more than I've ever hated anyone," Harry said quietly, but his words carried across the small room. "I thought once you might have a slither of humanity left inside of you, but I was wrong. You're nothing but a monster."

Voldemort laughed coldly. "And which of us let a _monster_ fuck him?"

"I didn't let you do anything," Harry hissed, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest. 

"It's your fault I' m here, Harry. If you hadn't thought you could handle me on your own, you'd never have invoked my blood magic and allowed me here." Voldemort paused, and considered Harry with a wicked smirk. "I wonder if, despite your insolence, you know, deep down, that you belong to me. I wonder if you _wanted_ me to come here, to kill those that would try and save you from me. Or perhaps you just wanted to be fucked like the pretty little whore you are."

Harry leapt for Voldemort, anger surging through him at his words, at what he'd _done_ , far worse than any other torture he'd bestowed upon Harry. Voldemort, however, didn't even bother to defend himself and simply said one word. 

"Kneel."

Harry was on his knees at Voldemort's side before he even knew what he was doing, his body obeying Voldemort's orders without even giving his mind a chance to fight. 

"Bodies are effortless to break," Voldemort said simply, threading his fingers through Harry's hair. "All it takes is some runic magic, and now you'll find it impossible to disobey my orders. For example, if I ask you to stand and kiss me."

Once again, Harry found his body moving against his will, even as he tried to will his mind to stop what was happening. He reached up on his tip-toes to reach Voldemort's mouth, kissing him soundlessly and clutching Voldemort's shoulders to keep him from toppling over. 

His mouth continued to move against Voldemort's impossible to pull away, even as he began to get breathless. Finally Voldemort released him, pushing Harry unceremoniously to the floor. 

"You can break my body," Harry snarled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But don't think you're going to break my mind. I'll never submit to you willingly."

"So feisty," Voldemort tutted affectionately. "Let's see how long that attitude lasts after you listen to the screams of your friends as they burn. Stand up."

"Don't hurt them," Harry cried, pulling urgently at Voldemort's sleeve. "You can do what you want to me, but-"

"I already have done that, and intend on continuing to do so," Voldemort stated. "You are important to me, Cherihed, but don't mistake my treasuring of you to be akin to love or affection. You are my soul, which makes your life precious, but I care not of your comfort or well-being. If I want to slaughter all of your friend, I'll do so, and if you don't stop disrespecting me, I'll even order you to do it yourself." 

Harry fell silent at once, letting go of Voldemort's sleeve as though it had burnt him. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest, burdened with the awareness of just how _horrifically_ everything had fallen apart. 

Voldemort tutted. "If you behaved, I wouldn't have to threaten or hurt you. You can make your own life easier, simply by putting your hatred of me aside. Now, put this on."

Voldemort removed his outer robe--still leaving him clad neck to toe in black--and offered it to Haryr. 

Harry took it, as directed, but he shot Voldemort a confused look. "Why?"

"Because, sweet thing," Voldemort said slowly, with an air of impatience as though he were explaining something to a rather dim-witted child. "You may be subservient to me, but you hold my _soul_. That makes you far superior to all of my followers and enemies alike, and you will never appear weak in front of them."

Voldemort studied Harry closely, his smaller frame now swamped by Voldemort's robe, his eyes likely blood-shot and his face splotchy from the tears. 

"You have suffered so beautifully for me," Voldemort murmured. "I am feeling generous, Harry, so I will give you a choice. If you do the one thing I ask, I will allow you a single friend to be taken, alive, and kept in my dungeon for you to visit when I feel you've been on your best behaviour. If you chose not to, then all your friends will die. All I want you to do, is tell me you love me."

Would it be selfish to make a single friend suffer through loss and imprisonment, just to give Harry the slightest sliver of hope? Or did he need that hope, to keep his world from being completely encased by the darkness?

"I love you."

Voldemort smiled darkly. "Good boy. Tell me, sweet thing, who is the one you want to live?"


End file.
